


I wanted pomegranates?

by coffeencat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Engagement, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Elysian Field trip, Fairytaleish, Fate & Destiny, Flowers, Gen, Gods & parties, M/M, Mythology cherry-picking, No Angst, Nymphs & Dryads, Other, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), angelnapping, feel good story?, let's hope, obvious!Aziraphale, on green pastures, supportive!Beelzebub, that's my plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeencat/pseuds/coffeencat
Summary: Aziraphale, a guardian of a random piece of field, spends days watching life slip through his fingers.  For an immortal, it's a really long way down. Under the opressio-, er, care of his doting brother Gabriel, he learns new useful skills: mainly garland-weaving, with a dash of fibbing. At least it's not another warzone.A  fairytale of textiles, flowers and books in three short acts. Hopefully, a comedy.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	1. ACT I

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Owls_and_snakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owls_and_snakes/), a well of ideas and rescuer of titles.

The meadows, unspooling over gentle hills in soft flowerbeds, hidden from human eyes, charmed with bursts of colour and divine aroma of blooms in the full spring.

Lilac. Violet. Fuchsia. Amaranth. Plume. Purple. Aziraphale, one of the angels resting on the grass, knitting a simple girdle and feeling more and more maudlin, nodded at the next article of Gabriel's himation collection. He stifled a yawn with a great effort. He didn't wish to be reprimanded again.

"Hmm... No good, no good at all. What do you think, Aziraphale?"

"Er...yes." Tense silence fell. Not a good guess, apparently.

"They're all great Gabriel."

"Of course they're great, they're mine. But they're not stunning, which is insulting. What do you know Aziraphale, you never had much taste."

Gabriel, his older brother and guardian, smiled at him. Aziraphale had trouble telling if it was fake or just patronizing.

It wasn't even that he didn't like clothes.

"I need another one. These are... unsuitable," Gabriel laughed while Aziraphale cringed. The archangel was sure in the mood today. It wasn’t even as terrible as usual which only made him more irritating. Would it be petty to point out suits were not invented yet?

Gabriel took another turn in front of the mirror angels set up for him. He liked best to change into robes and admire himself in bright daylight.

To reiterate, Aziraphale held nothing against clothes. He quite enjoyed them himself, especially the charming outfits with a stylish finish, like an original clasp, and good fabrics, which felt soft against his skin. He has seen some of them on the backs of visiting guests or special occasions.

Currently, he was dressed in a pristine white drape, just like all the other angels in the field. He wouldn't be getting anything nicer. Unlike Gabriel, the divine messenger, he held no representative function, therefore no need for finery, as over-explained many times.

Quite the opposite, as a minor guardian and only part-time nymph his obligation should be to model ascetic, warrior lifestyle, and watch over the field appointed to him. The angel had some doubts if the function was supposed to look like this, as well as if Gabriel should do the appointing, but Gabriel knows best. Right?

In any case, being unable to decide on anything took quite a lot of charm from shopping, where, Aziraphale was sure, he would not be invited anyway. Heaven forbid he would get to go to the City and see colourful shops and other wonders or get to talk to people, the horror.

Officially, he visited a human city only once, accompanying his brother on emergency (which turned out to be a tailor fitting) and was never allowed again, despite all the begging.

Not his fault he got lost, everything looked so interesting he just went from one market stand to another, stopped at the street performance… before he noticed there was Gabriel, yelling his ear off. He suspected his brother didn't like how much he enjoyed it there.

They left so fast he had no chance to look closer at the performance scripts, and he only got to see a single scene. Gabriel, who did not share his fascination, especially when it came to novels and storytelling, decided not to wait for the ending and pulled him along. Since their duties changed suddenly from internal affairs of Mt.Olympus to working in the field he had no access to any written works, let alone a collection of proper fiction.

He tried very hard not to think how Gabriel seemed to be limiting everything potentially fun in his life.

"Yes, I need another one, a missing piece of my collection. A gem. Isn't that true?

"Of course." Aziraphale could suggest donating a few of his pieces, but with current style, only a fellow archangel or an emperor as a recipient would do.

"Which colour would you choose?"

He already knew what was coming, but not taking the bait only prolonged his suffering. “Something different. Cream? Pale blue?”

“Sweet Heavens, I’ll not be seen looking like a- a peasant!”

Aziraphale would not mind looking like a peasant if he could wear something a little less bland, or at least a little less scratchy.

For Gabriel, only the finest silk and linen made a cut. The inside joke caused him to smile, a little harmless attempt at defiance. He knew his opress- er, guardian would not be seen dead in a cut fabric. Especially dead.

"You should take better care of yourself, Aziraphale. Maybe run a circle or two around the trees while I'm gone. Even if we took you to the fitting a standard piece of linen would probably be too short to wrap around."

Aziraphale tried to make himself not listen, but Gabriel’s comment caused him to blush with embarrassment. Perhaps he didn't look like a warrior, but he never intended to be one. Especially not after experiencing violence of the War firsthand. Gabriel’s standards needn’t be his own.

There was no reason to be so biting about other people's looks, anyway, especially if you were telling them what to wear.

"Lavender, it is. Or blush..? Well, I'll be off! See that you don't get in any trouble while I'm gone, everybody will be watching you. And for all that's holy, don't eat anything more, you had breakfast already."

Which consisted of shortbread so foul Aziraphale refused to put it into his mouth.  
Given how long it took Gabriel to find glorious enough cloth to be worth being warped around his body he doubted his return would be worth waiting for with any meal, let alone dinner.

Of course, he didn't say any of these. Sharing with others what he was thinking only brought trouble. It got to Gabriel's ears sooner or later, from his loyal minions, and he never quite liked what he heard. Gabriel felt it his holy mission to correct all surrounding until it reflected the perfection of grace. You get the drift.

Somehow, it was always about whatever Aziraphale was doing, currently interested in or the way he was looking, which was at all times not up to the standards. Apparently, it mattered, so Gabriel had no time for other things - sharing excess food with people in need, helping with work in the field, despite bragging about his superior strength, not even giving away a few free blessings.

Aziraphale almost felt special, really. He just didn't like it very much. Gabriel's obsession with being a perfect guardian - meaning dominating every area of his life and showing him One True Way - was something out of horror, with the addition of forcing himself to feel and act grateful about it. After all, Gabriel was taking care of him, right?

“When I’ll be gone, don’t dawdle around like you have a habit. Help with decorations, Aziraphale, we need flower garlands for my feast in a few days.” With that, not looking back, his guardian walked away, disappearing from view behind the first rock where the path twisted.

At this point, Aziraphale felt so tired of the scrutiny he wasn't even sad about being forced into becoming cheap unpaid labour. Either way, whatever awaited him would be dull. Was it possible to be damned while still alive?

Maybe he was special after all.

There were so many wonderful places to see, delicacies to taste, manuscripts with delightful stories to read! And he will never see any of them, because Gabriel thought it all a waste of time. After all, staying with family and working for, sorry, with them was the most important, right? That’s probably why Michael never visited.

Aziraphale curled up on the grass, at the edge of a group of servants that chatted between each other but paid him no mind, and started weaving another flower braid. Braids, he couldn't quite bring himself to hate.

The sun shined down on him mercilessly. What would he give for a decent roof over his head, just to make work easier?

***

After hours of working his fingers off Aziraphale decided enough was enough. He needed a bit of shadow and fresh water at least. Carefully, looking over his shoulder, he sneaked away in the direction of the woods. He doubted he went about his endeavour in an especially stealthy way, but with Gabriel gone, nobody could care less where he wandered off too, not even the servants, who were supposed to keep him company.

The shade brought him enough relief, that he felt tempted to just lay there for a moment of rest. The bright light exhausted him. Yet, more than this he needed cold water, even one sip.

He lost count how long he was walking under the trees, when he heard a babble of a brook nearby. The spring, wonderfully fitted among the rocks at the end of the small grove, could probably be a mud pool, but to Aziraphale, it would have no equal in its beauty and the sweetness of overflowing, simmering water.

He leaned over, taking a handful and bringing it to his lips. It made wonders for his parched throat. Once he drank his fill he had a moment to look around the beautiful place he found. Bushes heavy form shiny berries tangled around his knees.

"Oh, my, these look lovely. Wonder if... " He had no training or even casual knowledge about wild fruits, but they looked so tasty. Juicy. With such a copious water source and lots of sun on the edge, they must be the sweetest.

He took one, for science.

The flavour burst on his tongue and soon he had a handful. Truly, a delicious snack. He would prefer berries with cream or sugar or both, or even a scone, but he rarely got to eat flavourful foods under Gabriel’s dull dietary regime. He’ll remember this place.

After consideration, he picked a characteristic point that might help him navigate back. A sharp cliff must be seen far away, he could use it as a pointer of general direction.

A chalky flat rock dominated over the glade. Wildflowers, including tiny blue petals, looked especially bright at its contrasting background. Perhaps he could add them to his own corona for the festival? Their usual meadow teemed with large blooms in yellows and pinks - nobody else would have such flowers. Mother always said blue looked good on him.

He reached for the tiny stem, but under a layer of plants, his hand hit something hard.

"A book?" he spoke out loud, puzzled.

In his hands laid a simple, carefully bound tome. At the front, somebody pressed the sigil of a coiling snake, unlike anything he had seen before.

Aziraphale flipped the page. To his delight, it seemed to be a drama. A proper story, not even a treatise.

A few pages can't hurt, right?

***

Enraptured by the lecture, he didn't notice the ground near him shaking, at first a bit, then closer. The birds serenading from the low branches went silent.

Aziraphale, cheeks rosy from the story, tried to hold onto the rock and keep reading, but the letters shook in front of his eyes. The rumble echoed up and the ground tore at his feet. The angel looked up, irritated at the interruption.

Where the earth broke open an enormous magnificent snake emerged, rising up and up, showing red underbelly, glittering like jewels.

Aziraphale gaped at him, an expression of awe on his face. He never saw a divine beast before, though he knew they existed. The stories brought terrible monsters to mind, however, the creature in front of him could be anything but.

Its eyes opened, glaring at him. Each one shone brilliantly as if a sun got trapped inside.

"Oi, angel!" it hissed, "Are you enjoying my book?"

Aziraphale immediately shoved the script behind him. Half of his brain registered it as a way-too-late strategy, but the instinct to protect the script from the worst person he could encounter, meaning the rightful owner, won. The second half, too busy staring to shake itself off, took a few lazy seconds and half-heartedly tried to reboot his manners. He probably shouldn't be that taken with a creature of the Underworld - a demon - anyway.

"Helllo," his voice barely shook, he was proud to hear. "Er, yes, sorry for... Actually, I found this book here, no need to thank me. You must have left it."

The snake, he was sure, was laughing at him."Yess. And now I'm back."

"Oh, of course. It's a very beautiful copy. " Aziraphale didn’t move. He was running out of stress responses.

"Well? Aren't you going to give it back?"

"But I haven't finished it yet!" the indignant words spilt before he could filter them out. The moment they did he jumped a step back, just in case.

The snake laughed out loud. It - he - sounded deep, and rough, and made warmth bloom in Aziraphale’s chest.

"Did you like it, then?"

"Rather...yes. I loved the characters, such distinctive voices and believable conflict, I didn’t know which side to pick, both make such sensible points! And.. and-" He was forgetting himself, he suddenly realized, it was never a good idea to speak one's mind so openly. He cringed a little, embarrassed to be caught up in something so improper, and not even his own belonging no less. What was he thinking, of course, such a wonderful scroll would have an owner.

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't take it, it was a bad thing to do."

"We wouldn't want that. An angel doing a bad thing. Would you like me to borrow it to you, angel? Wouldn't that be good?” The beast hissed happily, as if greatly amused.

The snake’s magnificent head moved closer, snout almost touching Aziraphale's nose. It looked even more wonderful up close, with black adamantine scales scintillating in the warm sunlight.

Was it a test? Even now, decades later, he regretted not standing up to Gabriel the last time, to see the spectacle in town come to a close. There would be no point in repeating his own mistakes. Aziraphale wanted to know how the story ends badly. Yet, all he ever heard about demons still rang in his head. ”Would you really?”

“No, I’m just teasing you.” Angel’s crestfallen face must have said it all, for the demon looked both surprised and off-put by it. “Of course I would, for Hell’s sake, it’s just a book!”

"You mean… for free?" Suspicion slid into Aziraphale’s voice. He should know better than to make deals with the devil, he knew he should-

"Sssure. Relax, little angel. No need to look so stiff. I will just catch a nap here, in my spot. Read on. I'm curious what you have to say about the epilogue."

After that the snake slithered out of the chasm to sunbathe on a rock, lovely eyes closed, signifying the end of the talk.

Immediately the angel returned to the lecture and the drama unfolded. He never noticed a yellow pair of eyes observing him with suspicion, ready to strike in self-defence.

***

The sun was setting and the air started to grow colder when the serpent stirred. Aziraphale barely noticed until a tail hung between his eyes, getting into his line of sight to get his attention.

"Time for me to go, angel. Don't you have anywhere to be? You cannot possibly plan to spend the night here?"

"Oh, Good Lord! You're right!" With mortification, Aziraphale realized the other angels were probably looking for him already. What if Gabriel came back and he wasn't there? He would be grounded for a human lifetime! Worse! A turtle's!

An idea snapped into his head, and wouldn't go away. "Say, do you visit this place often?"

"Wouldn't you like to know that? You haven't finished the story yet, did you?"

Angel blushed at being seen through so easily, but the serpent continued. "Whenever I can steal a moment. I can borrow you a book if you promise to return it. But don't come here after dark. Hounds come hunting into these woods."

Aziraphale, already tucking the book into his simple robe smiled, delighted at the offer. "Yes, yes! I promise! I'll be back! I have to go now! It was wonderful meeting you, er...!"

"Crowley."

"Crowley. I'm Aziraphale. In case you were interested." And off he disappeared, among the trees, in what he hoped was the direction of the meadow he came from.

"Aziraphale," hissed dreamily the snake, watching him go. Nobody ever said they were happy to meet him. Aside from a careless little angel.

Before the sun set fully the earth closed behind him as he dove into the depths of the world, leaving heaps of blue flowers in his wake.

***

Aziraphale rushed through the trees, the setting sun behind him. Unused to walking fast, he kept gasping for breath, pink in the face and almost ran into Gabriel, already waiting there.

"Aziraphale!" the ever-candid voice welcomed him, "Where have you been?"

He opened his mouth to make some excuse, but before he managed Gabriel continued all by himself. "I see you took my advice to heart! Very good, I'm glad to see you put in an effort! A little exercise and you will lose that gut for sure!"

Thank Havens, he would never have made it up by himself.

"Who knows, if you keep this up maybe you will finally be fit for real work again."

Aziraphale heard that countless times before, and never knew if it was supposed to be a promise or a threat. Anything Gabriel considered a real job brought him chills.

"Let's go, I'll show you what I've got!" he patted the blonde angel on the arm with a strength that nearly took his knees out and not looking back led to the mirror where his new robes were waiting.

In the last rays of setting sun, both lavender and blush boiled and burned like a bad omen.

***

The next day Aziraphale got up with a new wiggle in his step. He had trouble falling asleep, thinking about the story he read, but even more about the serpent he got to meet. Despite it, he couldn't keep still. He rarely had the chance to make friends, and this one seemed so kind. He had to remember to tell him something nice next time he saw him.

Not that he was planning on seeing a demon regularly or anything of the sort, but really, books won't bring themselves for him to read, will they?

Gabriel again was called (or called himself off) on some important quest, so as usual Aziraphale and other angels were delegated to prepare the decorations. Most of them seemed to enjoy it. At least a few things he managed to weave looked pretty, even if slightly uneven, not perfectly in-lined like other works. He still felt a little bit proud of them.

Perhaps he could craft a garland or a crown for a serpent to thank him? The image of Crowley, warped in an exclusive boa of petals, encouraged him. A diva. It would suit him.

What if he did not show up? People sometimes acted nice to Aziraphale's face, especially when they met him with Gabriel, and he got easily charmed by that, only to later learn they didn't want anything to do with him, just seek his brother's favour. 

Usually, they realized they can gather more approval joining in mocking Aziraphale early on. Would Crowley?

The thought the serpent didn't like him worried him more then it should after a single meeting. Aziraphale, not completely obvious, did not fear to admit he felt lonely and isolated in his current position. He would love somebody to meet and spend time with, somebody glad and eager to see him. Not to mention the demon had such a wonderful story in his possession, which he allowed a stranger, whom he only just met, to borrow.

Aziraphale was musing and minding his own business: braiding decorations, stroking the casing of a carefully hidden drama, and mooning over about a particularly generous demon when a commotion drew his attention.

A few angels of their team gesticulated wildly, in hushed voices, at the group of new arrivals. He approached the gathering cautiously.

“Of course it’s here, the venue is right there!” a visitor protested, waving an arm at the skeleton of a giant wooden dais, already under construction.

Betrayed by their own creation. And here Aziraphale hoped the group just got lost - they made his head ache, even from all the distance. Especially since the duties roster required him to step in.

The closer he got the better he could see Poseidon sigils and hear the droning angelic voices.

“Hermes said he will meet us here.”

“Well, good luck looking for him. Just don’t count us in.”

The spokesperson of the retinue tightened both fists, trying to hold back temper. She spotted Aziraphale.

“You. Where is Hermes?”

“Hermes is not here,” he repeated a mantra he was sure somebody already declared. The teeth gritted audibly.

“Aziraphale, what is the meaning of this?”

“Gabriel! I thought you left!” How fortunate the archangel was still here. “Our guests are looking for Hermes, do you know something about it?” Luckily for Aziraphale, Gabriel’s ego automatically banned the possibility somebody dared to mock him, even when they couldn’t keep the glee from their voice.

The spokesperson looked from Aziraphale to Gabriel helplessly.

“Excuse me, but perhaps… it’s a misunderstanding? Are you sure it’s Hermes you’re looking for?” the blonde angel asked helpfully. Very helpfully.

“It’s written, Messenger of Gods, plain and simple.”

“Quite a way to put it. Have you considered, well… the other messengers?” He pretended not to notice how Gabriel’s face chameleoned bravely towards shade and pattern of dried amanita.

“The what?”

“Like Cupid: love, marriage and birth announcements? A messenger of a very noble sort.“

Poseidon's troupe exchanged looks of drunk party cheated off of the weeks' money at three cups tournament.

“You meant to say Eros, right?” Hmmm, was that still hope he heard? “These zones only cause trouble.”

The colour progression impeded his brother’s salesmen speech, so Aziraphale continued. Out of kindness.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? There was quite a discussion going on recently, on Eros and scope of responsibilities, and where exactly in the hierarchy should we put him- well, let's say it got settled eventually. No Eros, no problem."

Gabriel choked on air. He advocated strongly for keeping the position when the Hermes Trismegistos option fell through as a pagan cult. Some days Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it sunk in properly.

“There’s nothing wrong with Cupid!” declared the archangel.

“And here he is, always where needed.“ Just in time for Aziraphale to make himself scarce. Fast. “It was lovely meeting you.”

The Poseidon’s spokesperson looked Gabriel up and down, one brow arching high.

“Are you real-”

“YES! You’ve got a problem with that?”

“You want a problem? Great! I come with a problem. Where do we sit the bloody dolphins!” she looked around the wide pastures and dry mountain walls.

To Aziraphale’s retreating ears she sounded just a mite hysterical. But he would never judge. Gabriel had this effect on people.

Had he stayed longer, till the representatives departed, he would see them reversing the livery inside out, Neptun side up before leaving.

He didn’t. Waving off the visitors he got out of sight and quickly dove into the blissful woods.


	2. ACT II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's and Crowley's friendship blooms, gifts are exchanged, and emotions poured - not only the positive ones. Feast preparations are in full.

After a snack of berries and freshwater, he leaned over the rock in the shadow, where it wasn't too hot and opened the book when he finished last day.

"Look who we have here."

"Oh! Hello!" Aziraphale tried to curb his enthusiasm but gave up after a creature sneaked into his view, allowing the smile to brighten his face. "I didn't hear you emerge today."

"Business in town. Had to get out elsewhere."

"In town?” Of course, he got to visit the human too. Not that Zira held that against him, ze just wished he got experience as well. “Wouldn't the humans be scared of you? Don't misunderstand you're very lovely, but...?"

If the snakes could blush this one would be doing it, visibly embarrassed and pleased at the compliment. How Aziraphale knew that he could never explain.

"Of course, I didn' go there looking like that. Although...that would be quite a spectacle, must try it sometime."

"Em... so, how exactly do you look? You know, when you're not a giant snake?" asked Aziraphale with all the finesse of a person who hardly got to communicate with peers and spent days on lonely ventures.

The snake, he was sure, grinned at him - the fangs must have been very sharp, the light reflected off them. "Wouldn't you like to know? I just switched back into this, give me a break."

Aziraphale began to realise he had been rather rude, to begin with, but had no chance to apologise.

"Sso...did you enjoy your play?"

"Oh yes. Remarkable, really." He proceeded instead into a rant on a hero and its conflict that ended with a rather hilarious resolution, not seeing that he snake stared at him unblinking, watching his every expression as he excitedly poured out all the emotions the story brought to him. When he paused he felt a little out of breath.

Crowley listened carefully and even discussed some points with him. The debate brought them closer until Aziraphale caught himself leaning on a snake's massive body, which served as a remarkably comfortable sofa. it felt much more suited for rest then hard rocks or even grass, which irritated the angel to no end - either too damp or too full of ants that loved to crawl all over him. The serpent, while pretending to stay obvious to being a pillow, looped over them and tightened his hold a little, making himself and his victim more comfortable.

"You know, angel... I just got a new script on my trip. It was advertised to me as a tragedy of sorts and I don't even enjoy it all that much, usually... wouldn't you like to read it first? Tell me if it's worth the trouble?"

"Oh, but I love tragedies! All that drama! The misunderstandings! Tragic love!"

"My point exactly. Reality is miserable as it is, people are dying left and right, gods are either cheating on one another or throwing temper tantrums, angels and demons jump at one another’s throat for no reason. I can do without another one mediocre tragedy."

"Well, yes, but that's not the point. You get to discover the new depth of emotions, live through moral dilemma you would never encounter otherwise, and emerge on the other side with new understanding. The characters make mistakes and pay the prices. You can appreciate it all from the cosy spot, with a nice drink in hand, learn all the lessons for free and be glad your life is, if not distinctively happier, then at least less complicated and riddled with misfortune." 

Crowley seemed to stop and mull over his words. Wasn’t he lucky today? Not only did he get to read a fresh story, but his companion asked his opinion on it. And didn't seem to berate him, even when he did not agree. Good thing he had a lot of bottled up opinions to share; they would be wasted on Gabriel. 

"Not to mention, it's the tragic ones that are usually the one with prophecies."

"What does that have to do with anything!"

"The prophecies, Crowley. Fate. Destiny. Being defeated and punished by your own sins! You cannot not see how poetic that is."

Crowley chortled. "Sorry to break it to you, but reality does not work this way, angel. Whoever's the greatest basstard usually makes it on top and gets the last laugh."

"Well, I refuse to believe it.” He couldn't believe it, because if he did, what purpose did him putting up with Gabriel had? Not that Gabriel was a bastard, he wouldn't go that far. He knew his brother genuinely wanted the best for him. Only somehow Gabriel's definition of best always was Aziraphale’s idea of miserable.

"Refuse all you want, angel. It won't change a thing. Also, aren't these prophecies rather... vague? Till the point of uselessness?"

"That's the charm, isn’t it? You cannot tell what they mean until it happens. Then you know it was all part of the Plan."

Were Crowley human he would be wrinkling his nose at him. "If all these people in dramas just sat on their butt and ignored superstitious drivel no prophecy would ever come true, you realize? It sounds less like Fate and more like people being idiots, to me."

"The fate is - they were doomed from the start! Being who they were they couldn't do anything else, but what they did and that made the prophecy come true. That's how they work!”

“What’s the point, then?”

“Of what?”

“Of anything! If all was set from the start, no matter what they decide to, since there is no real deciding, and if they are damned either way… do the choices not matter anymore? Are they just an illusion? Does it not matter whether we choose to do good or evil, we are bound to act out our fate because of who we are from the beginning and that’s it? We’re just pawns? Actors in somebody’s script? Then why bloody bother!”

Aziraphale looked at him, enchanted. “You would make a perfect tragic hero, Crowley.”

The snake sputtered. “Erg- The Hell! Take it back, angel! I'd like my happily ever after, thank you!"

“Ok, ok, no need to get your tail in a twist. I get it. Still, it's all harmless fun and you’re very… dramatic, my dear.”

“If there would be any point in prophecies at all, besides it all being elaborate sham at getting drunk and high and being paid for it, not that it's a bad career move, however, if, then at least they could come up with something… more specific. Like "don't invest in Atlantis stock, they are all going down, come Hell or high water."

"An anti-Atlantis conspiracy theory, really? Even I heard that one. Next, you tell me redheads have no soul." 

"That's not the point. Also, don't invest in Atlantis. Sure source.[1]"

"I'll keep that in mind." Even to his own ears, he sounded drier than last year's leaves. Was he too harsh? He didn't want to discourage the demon from debating with him, he could hardly remember the last time he had such a pleasant and exciting day. But Crowley only snorted at him, hiding laughter, a sound the angel began looking forward to. 

They passed days like this. Whenever Gabriel was away Aziraphale made his way to his little refuge in the woods and to Crowley, a demon who was soon becoming his first and only friend.

He never felt as comfortable as in Crowley's company. Seen and appreciated, not only tolerated. At best.

Sometimes, when Crowley couldn't make it, in his place he found a trinket. Another book, or a tiny, crafty piece of human production. "I saw it in passing and immediately thought of you. Try it on," he would coax, and Aziraphale would fluster under the attention.

The closer the great feast approached the less time Aziraphale had and the harder it became to rip away from his other duties. Gabriel felt satisfied with his new "training routine" - he had yet to get back from a meeting with Crowley on time, and always showed up red and covered in sweat from a little jog through the woods. What he wasn't happy with was Aziraphale's negligence of his daily duties in wreath-weaving, so much that he decided to send him to bed without supper.

"You don't need human food anyway, he said. It's a pure useless indulgence that spoils the character," he puffed at his companion, who lazed at his side, eyes only half-open. A hand Aziraphale wasn't using to hold the text, which was raking the scales gently, stopped its movement. Crowley's purring[2] halted as a single betrayed eye opened.

“Pah, nonsense.”

The stroking resumed. He must have been listening all the time, however, for from then on the serpent always brought him human delicacies to try whenever he ventured into town.

***

This day, when Azirapahel arrived early to the clearing it was still empty, aside from the lovely piece of cheese warped in a cloth and a new transcription of comedy signed as Boeo’s work. Funny, he knew of the author, an oracle famous for her poetry and hymns, but never heard about this specific work. And it couldn't be new - she was dead for half a century already.

Another hand annotated on the first page "For keeps, angel" with a tiny snake sigil he saw on the first book he ever found in the glade. Did that mean the book was meant for him? Forever? Oh, Crowley… He pulled the gift close to his chest. 

He will ask the serpent the moment he appeared, which he wished happened right now.  
Even the endless source of written sources, which the snake delivered to him without prompting, as well as endless treats, which he initially found greatly tempting, did nothing in contrast to his company.

Stroking the paper gently, like the world's greatest treasure it was, he quickly screened the lecture. Funny enough, the story had a prophecy involved, and the main theme oddly reminiscent of his and Crowley's last debate. No wonder the clever snake bought it. He could already guess whose vision of reality would end up on top.

He didn't think Crowley was right in discarding the notions of the destiny one has to fulfil in course of their existence. All of them immortal creatures, angels or demons, had a function, a role in the universe to play. Sometimes it extended to mortals. Perhaps they were not meant to know what the future brings - the prophecies did, indeed, often brought much more fears than useful warnings. 

However, surely there was some point to this whole existence? Some intricate plan? If all of the world was pure chaos and anybody was free to do what they wanted, well, Aziraphale surely would not be sticking under Gabriel’s thumb weaving flowers into pointless garlands, just studying something useful and more pleasurable? Wandering human towns, meeting Crowley over wine in human taverns, recommending him the best treats and book, not only the other way around?

He would have a home to keep the insects out at least, for Heaven's sake - they were driving him mad with the buzzing and he could never buy into the "idyllic" outdoors idea, he was sure came from people who never had to work outdoors, let alone read there. 

Yes, having an actual house (another thing Gabriel deemed unnecessary, since he stored his clothes in heavenly official quarters) would appeal to him very much. He could collect books, and learn new skills and invite friends over and make a life for himself - none of that senseless field-watching for feasts he had no interest in and barely participated in any way.

By now, thanks to the countless hours spent it was all he felt good for - weaving. A step up from his previous occupation which was, he was ashamed to admit, slaughtering beings somebody superior pointed his fingers at. He swore he would never take a sword in hand again, throw it away and got reassigned into reeducation under Gabriel’s care - it was deemed his previous responsibility was too much for him, so decision making got handed over to his brother on his behalf.

His new occupation was at least peaceful. A step up from the battlefield. And now, at least thanks to all the practice he had, he could weave Crowley a lovely thank-you crown, the most beautiful thing he deserved. He never managed a proper crown, he was much better at garlands no matter how Gabriel insisted he should make at least one wreath. But for Crowley, it seemed more fitting. 

The flowers in their tiny glade grew small and wild, lovely to look at - he knew the snake preferred them alive but really, he couldn't give him anything else. He will look perfectly lovely, all in flowers!

For the first time he remembered, his treasured book set down close to the side, he eagerly sat down to gather the flowers for weaving. Tiny blue blooms, on dark stems sprang in lush flowerbeds from earth’s rock, where it tore to let magnificent snake emerge. Closer the stream, in the shade, they seamlessly merged with a patch of forget-me-nots, which he saw only in pictures. He picked out lovely dark fern, sharp flowing shapes reminding him of Crowley the most of all, as well as some of his favourite herbs and settled to the weaving. 

“Hello, Aziraphale."

He couldn't help the grin that formed at the voice alone but tried to keep a straight face before turning away. There he was, his magnificent companion. Well, not exactly his, of course, Crowley was his own serpent… but magnificent, undoubtedly.

He fiddled with a wreath he managed to hide behind his back.

"What is it, angel?" The sunny eyes were on him, wide and curious.

"Nothing! Not at all. Why would you think so?"

"You're hiding something."

"N-no, of course not."

"Now, Aziraphale… little angels shouldn't lie. Especially not when they're not very good at it."

"Well, demons should not pry!" He wanted it to be a surprise!

"Of course they should, that's why they're demons. Prying and meddling, it's in a job description." Large head of a snake tried to sneak closer to look past him."Now, what do you have there?"

The angel hesitated, moving from foot to foot. Crowley raised his head further, to nudge his cheek with his snout. Must he be so cute?

Snake eyes blinked at him, deliberately.

"Oh, blast it!" With a flourish he took a step back and pressed the flower crown onto a scaly serpentine head, innocent surprised eyes freezing still for a second. 

"Oh!" His snake looked ever lovelier now! Like a wild forest nymph! "Adorable!" his mouth moved before he thought again - his filter regularly failed when Crowley was concerned.

"Demons are not adorable!" The token protest had no fire in it, as Crowley tried to flex and see what had happened. "Angel? What did you do?"

Suspicious reptile. He probably had no idea how precious he looked like this. Well, it would be a pity if he didn’t get to see it.

“You see, I didn’t have anything else to give you. Would you like to see? The water is calmer further down!” For the first time, he regretted Crowley doesn’t have hands he could take in his and lead him. He rushed down the stream, counting that the snake would follow. Sure enough, he kept himself at angel’s heels, surprisingly graceful and agile even among the trees. 

Even in the shallow pool, when the water looked much calmer, the reflection was hard to see, always changing shape, and deforming an already unclear picture. Crowley could only see a blur of something blue and green over his head. Was that… He didn’t dare to assume, and the bloody water will not stand still.

Impatient and unable to snap fingers to speed up the miracle he did the next most instinctual thing - pulled his wing into the material plane and flapped, as much as he could, over water, but it felt symbolic enough. The surface rippled and stilled, like polished silver. 

Aziraphale stood equally frozen still, the beast of lustrous scales towering over him, shiny crow feathers half-spread over them, reflecting the sunlight. If in his life he saw anything divine it was not Mt. Olympus, not the halls of Heaven. Just this. 

“Ngk... A.. a flower crown. For me?” Crowley breathed, shyer than his usual coy, disbelief clear. “Oh, angel. You did it yourself?” 

Over a crooked flower crown. The serpent had no idea what a treasure he was, did he?

“Of course. Do you like it?” 

“Do I- Yes. I love- Yes, I love it. Wait!”

In front of the angel's eyes, the giant serpent melted like hot wax and in his place a thin redhead man stood, immediately snapping fingers and summoning proper vertical mirror before Aziraphale so much as uttered a sound. 

“Oh, Good Lord!” And he though the serpent lovely? Perhaps Gabriel was right, he was too naive to live on his own. Crowley, currently cooing over his own reflection and trying on the best crown angle was not only adorable, he was stunning. Tempting. 

A string of worry appeared in Aziraphel’s mind. That wasn’t exactly angelic thought, was it?

The demon apparently found the ideal look, for he abandoned the looking glass and threw his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him into an embrace. Any dark thought he had dispersed. How could something this joyous be any wrong? 

Up close he could see some of the scales peppering his skin as well as hopeful golden eyes. 

From then on, wherever they met, no matter the form, Crowley always appeared to him in the flower crown, as if he never even took it off. Aziraphale, curious how long it will last, observed the flora, but never managed to catch a single petal out of place. 

***

“But how do they know what to say to whom?" He tried to talk between bites of olives, adopting Crowley's stance temporarily, for discussion’s sake.

"People don't have it all written on their forehead, do they? Does it ever happen? Completely missing the prophecy would ridicule the temple. "Your brother will be your doom" to somebody who only has sisters?

"Cold reading, angel. It's like... you talk and talk gibberish and probable statements and watch reactions? It's a trick, anybody can do that. See, there is this game." He pulled out a set of small painted stiff squares.

“Oh, Crowley! These are truly lovely! You should convey my admiration to the artist!

Had he not been so busy studying the tiny paintings he might have had a chance of reading pleased the bashfulness of the demon's expression. 

"It’s called... Carrot. You know, like the donkey carrot-and-stick routine? People always remember the best things they like. Or you know, dislike, but find true anyway. Whatever confirms the bias they already have."

Aziraphale looked fascinated by the figures on the cards, full of symbols.

"You pull up a few cards and make up what they mean, more or less what's on the card... and there you go, prophecy ready, thank you, here's the payment. And the person can go on with their day believing they had a magical life-altering experience when you talked back to them what they already know and told you with their expression. Fun, isn't it? Maybe I should call it "Parrot" instead? Have you seen parrots? They repeat whatever they hear, it would be good too! People in town will love it!"

The game, taking aside treating people like idiots, sounded very entertaining indeed. 

"You can adapt your deck of cards however you like, so it fits better the group of people you are currently trying to tell fortune. I even have a death card here, see? I thought it would spice things up a bit. But you don't want people too unhappy or they won't come back, it’s bad for business. So I remove it for elderly guys. If I forget, I tell them it looks like death but means something lucky. Unhappily married woman, however? A younger son waiting for an inheritance? It's such a lovely tool to bring out the worst in people."

"That's horrible!"

"Depends on how you look on it... It's just a few pieces of a paper angel. It doesn't make people do anything. They just show their true faces, wherever given a mask of excuses. Isn't it better, to know who you're dealing with? You just said the other day the prophecies and their dramatics are such a wonderful thing. Here you go, everything you asked for. I still say it's all on the people what they decide to do.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in personal responsibility," said Aziraphale, who heartily believed in personal responsibility of following and fulfilling ones appointed destiny till last Monday. "It’s just... The prophecies are just so romantic. Even when they're very vogue or when it's hard to tell if they come true. I wouldn’t expect a demon like you to understand that though.”

He felt a little silly, so he might have been less than charitable.

“Right. So now I’m the cold-hearted demon incapable of higher understanding and good emotions. That's my inescapable fate. Thanks, angel, and here I thought we were- .” Crowley snapped, surprisingly sharp, only to stop himself and the angel never heard what the demon has thought of them. He felt like he just missed something important. 

The serpent unwound himself from his usual conformation as Aziraphale’s pillow, slithering away, as if getting away from physical hurt, leaving the angel feeling unreasonably conflicted and irritated. He only said what everybody knew was true, why did Crowley have to be so difficult about it.

He bit his tongue not to blurt it out loud. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“What did you mean, then?”  
Aziraphale bit his lip, trying to come up with the answer. He knew Crowley was capable of good, and positive and nice, even if romance might be alien to him and his kind. At the same time, demons are meant to be tools of the downfall of the world and humanity, and-

The serpent was done looking at him, waiting, expression a stone mask. The earth opened up and Crowley got swallowed without the sound, taking all the warmth in the universe with him.

***

The situation escalated from bad to worse. The angel expected Crowley to hold a grudge a little, given how uncharacteristically violent his reaction was. Well, not violent as such, but certainly... dramatic. He must have touched the painful topic.

Frankly, he knew little about Crowley - nothing at all about his past which would allow him to predict what the demon might be sensitive too. It would have to be redeemed. He didn't want to hurt him again.

He attempted to apologize right away, but the words stuck in his throat. He always hated himself for being anxious and unsure. If he didn't dawdle uselessly perhaps he would be laughing with the serpent right now.

Time passed, but their spot in the woods remained empty and Aziraphale cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut. His brother might have been right all along. Why did he spout that- that nonsense? It might be what's said about demons but he knew, firsthand, it had nothing to do with the person he befriended. He understood perfectly well that Crowley, underneath the cool suave facade, must be soft. He cared too much. About people and Aziraphale both.

What if he never came back? He didn't even know where to look for him. He couldn't go around and ask angels about a large snake demon, he will only put a bullseye on Crowley's back.

The days passed and the serpent did not appear. Aziraphale spent them lonely, sitting on their rock and trying to focus on reading, but the lovely tome he received only caused his guilt to multiply.

Defeated, another day in a row he hid his precious possession from sight and trudged back towards the camp, no caring he was late. After a night of admiring the ceiling of angels barracks, where he was supposed to integrate with his brethren, but didn't, because he wasn't in the mood even on the best of days, the new morning came.

Gabriel marched in at the first light, gathering the group back to the meadows. Today, however, he seemed determined not to let Aziraphale out of sight.

"You have been slacking lately. Everybody put a lot of work into decorations. And you? Always a little behind..."

With a sober mood, he realized it was true. While everybody worked to prepare the feast and Crowley kept disappearing to do his job, he got so caught up in the new camaraderie and influx of the lovely books and distracting novelties but forgot he was supposed to do anything else.

"No matter. Today is the new day and you have a chance to redeem yourself. We have enough garlands. The design department even prepared a pattern for you, all you have to do is gather some weeds, weave, and ta-da! If you do a good job today, you might have enough time to go to the feast! Aren't you happy, Aziraphale?"

The angel looked shocked, not sure he heard right. Gabriel has allowed him to go to the feast a few times only, usually to saddle him with some quasi-servant duty nobody else wanted, and that was after he asked, numerous times, to be allowed in.

He never actually invited him to any. It wasn't even personal, regular angels were not on the guest list, and could only be seen if they had duties that required their presence. The idea brought a smile onto his face.

"That would be wonderful, Gabriel, I will do my best! Do we know who else will be our guest?"

Gabriel smiled back, very squarely and almost kindly. "Everybody worth knowing, you can be sure of that. Maybe you will even catch somebody's eye? Wouldn't that be interesting? You cannot be my protegee forever!"

"That.. might not be quite a bad thing." he thought about meeting Crowley at the feast and making amends. Or perhaps at least asking around if they know where he might hail from and where he could be found. He understood the need to hide and lick wounds in peace, but the suspense, the uncertainty if he will even see his dearest partner, that is, dearest companion again... it was turning him into a sullen nervous wreck.

He needed, needed Crowley back. He couldn’t wait for the feast.

### Footnotes:

[1] Dagon, once a part of Poseidon’s court, got banished in a fit of bad mood after asking for a signature on a one file too many. They were begged to return after three days, but by then the bruises started fading, so they never quite made it back. They never doubted Atlantis will be the next punching bag. [ return to text ]

[2] Snakes didn't often purr; demons, however, universally did. It left snake demons in precarious position of making their own choices on the matter.  [ return to text ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's our first ~~lovers~~ besties spat and the feast is fast approaching.  
> What did you like, what dragged on too long? I'd love to hear all comments from you.  
> Thanks for reading.


	3. ACT III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party of Mt.Olympus and the fallout of not having the courtesy. Hellish trips, prophercies and confrontations with an archangel ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the last part of our not-quite-divine comedy. I'd like to hear what you like and what needs improvement, especially since it was a speed writting experiment. How you people manage to update a perfect quality engaging works weekly, let alone daily, I'll never know. (Also testing a new exotic feature which is pretending to have a plot, however brief or stolen.) Extra fluff ahead.

The increasingly frantic preparations for the occasion showed that it would be the party to be remembered by all. From other angels, not Gabriel, of course (strong no-gossip policy here. Informing Gabriel was not gossip, it was a proper distribution of data up the chain of the organisation) the feast would be in honour of Poseidon. It made little sense to Aziraphale, why dress it all up in flowers, then? Wouldn't they use seaweed? Amber? Throw the party underwater? Nobody present needed to breathe anyway. Oh, well. Perhaps he wanted to try something new. 

No one was ready to answer any of his inquiries, moving there and back when Azirpahle hung back helplessly. All the effort paid off and the high meadows below the top of Mount Olympus were beginning to look less severe and more beautiful than he remembered.

Even the other angels got new livery, in Gabriel’s favourite colours, over their usual chitons. He tried asking where he could acquire one, but Gabriel dismissed him.

"You look good as you are. Do you really want to wait tables?" 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say he wouldn't mind helping at all but didn't manage to get a single word in. 

"Nobody will mistake you for a servant if you don't look like one. You will be handing the crowns to competition winners. Now, the guests are gathering. Don't get underfoot. And try to look presentable today, for Heaven's sake."

Seeing as Gabriel acted today more charitable than usual, Aziraphale decided not to test his luck. Following the advice, he put a small decoration up in his hair, from the same flowers he put into Crowley's crown. It made him feel a bit reassured and closer to the serpent, but, on the downside, stick out even more than usual.

Gathered guests, in all colours of the rainbow and glitter, pretended to greet familiar faces and called a temporary truce to gossip on new ones. The crowds, consisting mostly of angels, and quite a few demons cosplaying them, were getting too much for his liking. As soon as he got out of Gabriel's sight he disappeared to the kitchens.

He was just munching on a stolen piece of excellent spongecake, obvious to the pitying, angry or too-compassionate looks he kept getting from the staff, when the Earth rumbled somewhere in the close distance. 

He looked up from his plate, careful not to get his hopes up. Among the gathering - mostly the Gods of Olympus and Poseidon's entourage - the screaming started as the next layer of tremors passed, in a way altogether different than he was used to. Furious. He had never seen any demon angry, at his worst frustrated and hurt: Crowley, when they last argued.

The Earth broke apart, further than he had ever seen it, the cracks spreading round under the wooden dais, splitting the ground till it ran even under Aziraphale's feet. Everybody scattered, away from the chasm into the safety of stable grass, but Aziraphale couldn't see what was happening over the tops of the crowd. He drew closer, till he had to make way through the people running past him.

A hand, too-heavy, fell on his arm. “Listen, Aziraphale. Get away from there and hide. Now,” his guardian hissed into his ear before disappearing in the crowd, leaving wide enough breath for Aziraphale to see. 

From the rift sprung out not his loveliest gargantuan snake, but a whole chariot, drawn by horses with fire in place of irises. The man - if it was a man - leading it, bone-thin and stunning, clad in veils of shadow and mist, laughed a terrible sound, bitter with no ounce of joy.

Most of the guests stood still now, in a wide circle of pale faces. The meekest [3] tried to put as much distance and other people between themselves and the new arrival and his biting horses as possible.

"Not invited? You never had much kindness, now you have no manners?" Even the voice echoed off the mountain walls, a force of nature distorted beyond human.

"It... got lost in the post?" tried Sandalphon, one of Gabriel's assistants.

A God of the Dead had thrown a crumpled paper at him, still smoking from his palm, and the angel barely dodged. When the flames died he picked up and uncurled the page enough to read. Gabriel, suddenly close to the chariot, ripped the paper away from the other angel. He had the expression on his face Aziraphale knew very well. For once it wasn't directed at him.

Step by step he inched closer. Gabriel could be so unreasonable sometimes. Perhaps this god, who arrived from Underworld, knew where Crowley could be found? He had to use this chance, he might not get another one. Just one quick question. 

"Must be a clerical mistake. You are most welcome to celebrate with us, Hades. It is, after all, a joyous occasion.” His brother directed his best oil-salesman smile at the God of Underworld and Aziraphale, too, fought the urge to facepalm. 

Hades did not look convinced at all. If his sneer was anything to go by, he felt tired of being lied to his face. “And what, pray tell, are we celebrating?”

“Engagement of course! Engagement and unification of the realms! Here, have a drink!” Gabriel waved his hand and a shivering angel brought up a jug and goblet that was quickly passed. Hades, as anybody sane, did not drink. 

“And where is our couple? Surely, they do deserve my congratulationss.”

“Ah yes, Here’s our groom, but you already know each other. We’re family, after a- “

“Now you remember that? Well, let's see our new addition. Where’s the bride?”

Oops. Nobody told Aziraphale it was a wedding, but he had more pressing matters. Just at the massive carriage, he couldn’t see anything again, but Hades didn’t sound very charitable. As in help-random-angels-find-a-certain-demon-snake charitable, which he imagined might not be all that tiny favour. A gathering of the near entire realm, but Crowley wasn't there. He had time to sunbathe daily but not for this? They will talk about priorities, the first time they get.

His hands must have had a mind of their own because they were already at the only part he could reach - a silky black fabric of a God's sleeve, tugging on it as a fledgeling. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel yelled, and for once he sounded worried about his brother. 

“Excuse me, I’m looking for… wouldn't you by chance know -”

***

After the argument with Aziraphale, Crowley fumed all the way down to the depths of Hell, wholly conscious of the fact he acted unreasonably and being even more disgruntled because of it.

Ok, so everybody was right. He knew exactly what he was getting into trying to woo a cute angel. He knew the prejudices, the superstitions that surrounded his kind, would be poisoning his mind just as anybody else's who gave too much ear to archangel crowd. But Aziraphale was always so open, so trusting, so-- normal and occasionally naive. Crowley lulled himself into a false sense of security and forgot all about the warning. When the reminder came, it felt like a slap in the face. He didn't even care he would be a laughingstock in Hell. He wanted his angel back. 

"Here is our great tempter. Finally early. What is it, the feathered birdbrain you were hanging all over was too much for you?" welcomed him Hastur the moment he crossed into another hall.

Unfortunately, in case of great advisors, impertinence went hand in hand with competence. Hastur was neither, but whenever he wanted, could be ruthless which had its own uses.

Pity they used it against him right now. Dagon felt less inclined for small talk. 

"Good, you're back. Here's the new list of souls. Waiting for the sorting." Couldn't he even wallow in self-pity in peace? 

Yellow eyes flashed in the dark, but Hastur only smirked and rolled his own eyes at him. 

"Don't look like that, runt. It's your turn to do your job. You got away with traipsing on the surface long enough."

It was easy to say. when you had your spouse waiting for you after work at home, because you got lucky. Crowley wouldn't have to stick away from home for so long if he had somebody to make dinner to. Really sunlight felt good, and people were fun, but he got it all already - the fields, the rivers, the warmth, even an army of dead poets on his back and call. What would it take to lure Aziraphale down here? Another book? A cake? An effing library?

Once again humanoid, he righted the crown resting on his hair. At least the angel didn't revoke his favour, it counted for something, right? Did it count as lovers quarrel? As break up?

Would that mean he was the one breaking up? Absurd. As if he would ever.

Well, he would have to make it up to the angel, once they saw one another again. He planned to mention he will be gone more the next week, really, but their meeting broke so abruptly… 

Crowley promised himself to be honest with himself, and now came the hard part of the bargain. The last meeting didn't go well, did it?

At the end Aziraphel wouldn't even talk to him, and he needed to cool down not to say anything stupid. Like accuse him of the more things he didn't say, just because he felt irrationally anxious about whatever relationship they had. Or rather still didn’t have, despite the gestures. Same difference.

He tried to force himself into taking measured breaths, and it helped exactly nothing at all.

"Crowley, can you stop moping and get to work? Or would you rather, my Lord of Underworld, God of the Dead.."

"Ok, ok, no need to get sarcastic."

He sat back in the throne, made predictably out of some poor creature's bones (it was the first impression that counted), tried to get comfortable, which ended up with his legs somewhere at the armrest, and got ready for a very tedious week. 

***

A small eternity later, days blending into nights, the trickle of petitioners slowed down, and he got convinced the endless queue got on hold (Thanatos shift deserved a break as well) he already scrambled up from the damn chair when Dagon marched into the chamber.

“Here is the post. External affairs.”

Putting up with shit the beings outside of the realm were regularly throwing at them, just what was needed. Crowley would groan, but he still felt on-duty. Instead, he ripped through the first envelope from the stack.

"... officially not invited to the engagement feast of Poseidon, Lord of Oceans, ta, da, da... "

He froze. Paled. Snapped his fingers and the infernal skies opened high above.

Thiss was War.

***

Aziraphale’s voice got stuck, fingers still clutching the sleeve. 

The God of Hell leaned over the railing, sun dancing in his hair. The eyes, as always, shone with their own light, molten gold.

“And here we have the bride. Get in, angel.”

Long fingers closed on his forearm and he got hauled into the waiting arms into the vehicle.

Up close he could see past concealment of mists - resting on the temples of his favourite demon, what he took from a distance for a chaotic crown, was his flower wreath, fresh as the day he weaved it. 

Perhaps he took their quarrel too seriously. Crowley would never leave him over something as silly as a single misunderstanding, would he?

“What are you doing, you wretched demon! Give him back!”

“Won’t you ask nicely?”

“Nicely? I’ll have your head over the-”

“How trite. If you want him, you will have to come and get him.”

The earth quaked again, and all Aziraphale did was hold fast, face in Crowley’s shirt, as the ground swallowed them whole. It closed high over their heads, as they fell, straight into the endless chasm. 

On the surface they left behind the soil scarred over in fresh patches of lithodora and daffodils, leaving no other trace to be seen.

***

In the depth of Hades Crowley stalked out of the chariot. Not even infernal work-of-art “God of the Underworld” glamour could conceal the ungainly anxious tangle of limbs, frown over his face.

On Crowley, it still looked melodramatically good. 

“What were you thinking, angel? Wanted me jealous? Well, I am jealous. You won.”

Now, that was just unfair. Crowley wasn’t the one abandoned and kidnapped, was he? 

“What was I thinking? What were you thinking! You just- disappeared!”

“I had work to do! Hell won’t run itself! 

As if on cue Belzebub and Dagon both marched into the hallway, expressions that could curdle milk on their faces. On Belzebub, it looked just like all zir’s other expressions. 

“Crowley! Where the Heaven were you! You better start working, or you will wish-”

“‘Ello to you too, Beelz.”

“We have a problem.”

“Again? If you mean that flaming pillar in the doorway, it’s our solution to last week's problem.”

“Don't try to be cute, Crowley. Where’s the Hell Hound?”

"What? How am I supposed to know?"

“Crowley. What did you do?”

"Me? I wasn't even here!"

"That's exactly the point."

The serpent stomped in a circle, kicking up the dust and trying not to curse. He threw a desperate look towards the doorway. 

“Don’t even think about it. We don’t deal with our problems the way you deal with your personality faults.”

“It’s all under control. And for the record, I don't know what you mean. How long is it gone?”

An indecipherable buzz.

“How?”

“Few hours.”

“Hours! I was gone minutes!”

“Plus travel time, you vermin. Once more. Once. And you will be chained to that chair for next decade. All alone.”

“Oh, spare me. Do you at least know how far-”

“We thought you had it!”

“Why, for all damn souls, would I take a three-headed hellhound to Heaven?”

Dagon opened her mouth.

“No, you know, don’t answer that.“ Crowley closed his eyes for a few moments, scales crawling all over his face. He turned to Aziraphale.

“Listen, angel, our pet people like to steal got lost, I have to go. Look around. Find a nice place or something. Don’t eat, drink, take or preferably touch anything, you read a lot, you know how it works. We will get back to your stunts later. ”

Before Aziraphale even had time to snark how ridiculous the accusation was, Crowley, covering rapidly in scales, was frog marched in the direction of one of the exits.

He was left alone all over again, was he? And again, he had no idea where Crowley disappeared to or how to find him. The nerve of this snake!

Fuming, feeling even more anxious in the large empty hall, Aziraphale spun on his heel and purposefully stomped off in the opposite direction.

A few turns later he felt properly lost and started to cool down a little. The less angry he got the more attention he paid to the surroundings and the longer the shadows crawling over walls appeared. A demon, then two passed him, throwing him long wary glances, but never slowing down.

The next hall opened to the boundless fields, lit without direction, like the sun through the mist, shades of people meandering just like the rivers that cut through the plains. He felt like, if he got lost there, he would wander till he forgot his own name. Fearful, he kept close to the entrance wall but passed a few holes that smelled too strongly of ash, swamp, or just mould and rot. How did Crowley, always shiny and clean, get around here?

He walked past brimstone and dove into the first decent corridor. It opened up to an orchard. The path wound up a hill among the trees ripe with fruit, to what appeared to be a temple. Even from the distance, the stone looked shiny and fresh, as if it was raised yesterday.

He climbed up and up, till grass changed to marble under his still naked feet.

"Oh, good heavens." The rows and rows of both empty and full shelves, interspersed by comfy chaise longues and cosy nooks with pillows made his initial misassessment clear.  
It was the library of his dreams because of course it was. The patio in the centre lacked nothing - not the sunlit rock, not the percolating stream, not even a few berry bushes and cerulean flower patches. As if the place was mocking him.

Well, right back at it. He would not pass up on such a perfect dream just because it probably wanted to lure the soul out of him. 

Crowley would come looking for him eventually, yes? He might as well occupy himself instead of looking for trouble? It won’t hurt if he took a single short look at the collection. Surely whoever owned it, if it was a real thing and not a conjured mirage, would not mind as long as he didn’t snoop too much. 

He approached row after row, stroking the spines and brass rolls. Tempted, he pulled out a piece of parchment or two from the casing, but settled every single back rapidly, afraid he would have trouble parting from them. By the time, and he had no idea how long might have passed, he got to the back rows, where there were more empty spaces, begging to be filled with new tomes, his cheeks were flaming hot from excitement, eyes wide. 

He went back to his initial evaluation. If he didn’t just wander the physical emanation of the pantheon of knowledge, or at least the Temple of Heart’s Content, then he surely must be beyond even the immortal plane, in a land of illusions. 

Realizing his pathos levels just broke the scale he curbed them to a more manageable size and continued exploration.

The sun stayed unchangingly high, as the moment he entered the place, while he tried to tangle out of the clutches the realm had already sunk into him. He could leave and find another place, but the perspective of walking along the fields again unsettled him.

The angel procured the gifted script from the folds of his robe and settled down at the patio’s edge with a lecture. The silky pillows did not move to bite or ensnare him unless convincing him they were the most comfortable piece of furniture he had the pleasure of using was a part of their devious plot.

Instead of losing himself in the story as he always did, one for one his attention went back to the surrounding landscape. The breeze skimmed over the page and letters trembled. Whenever he looked up from them his throat felt more and more parched, tempted by the fresh spring. The hunger, unlike the usual flights of fancy that guided him, now caused his stomach to cramp, in a way unfamiliar to an ethereal creature. 

Now, whenever he looked, there were paters of fruit and cheese. The berries in the atrium were worse, so alike these he usually munched on during his long meetings with Crowley, when mornings melted into afternoons, he got so used to indulging in them carefree, it felt like a second instinct. 

Well, Crowley made it pretty clear not to touch anything and that he stayed here, essentially, as more of an intruder than a guest. 

Although… with such a terrible host, he already felt rather miffed, and couldn’t be held responsible for a small omission of good manners, especially if nobody was there to witness it. Surely nobody would miss a handful of wild berries?

All after being kidnapped too. At least they could have arranged him some luncheon. He will starve here! He never felt hungry before! 

Oh, blast it. He will explain himself later. 

He knelt in the too-familiar grass and picked the dark fruit, only a few the shiniest from each of the bushes. There, no difference at all!

Soon he had a lovely fistful. He brought them up for a whiff of aroma. Just divine. Why did he bother-

He almost burrowed, nose-first, into the rock, as a force hit him from the side, knocking the berries out of his hand.

“I know it! I just felt you’re getting yourself into trouble!” His serpent, still on two legs and with a mane of rather fetching red hair, stood just next to him, holding him up before he toppled over. 

“Crowley! My lunch!”

“Your lunch was about to curse you with Death. You’re welcome.”

He was about to make an idiot out of himself again, was he? "It's all your fault, you know! Disappearing on me all the time. Whenever something difficult comes up, the first chance you get - puff, you’re gone."

“Cerber is not on me. Before I left you for five minutes and you’re engaged to somebody else? How is that my fault!”

“I wasn’t engaged to anybody!” 

“You- as hell! First, you propose to me, we have one single tiny spat and next week I come to the party and the first thing I see? Poseidon’s ugly mug, with YOUR wreath on top of it!”

“I did no such thing!”

“Just like you didn’t mean what you said before? No understanding of love? Am I evil enough for you now? Kidnapping and trapping you here? Does that fulfil your expectations? Well, are you happy?”

“I-” Oh dear. What was he to do? He would call Crowley out on making up stupid demonic courting customs post-factum, but Gabriel had been so insistent on him making a wreath, and it just disappeared right away. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what Poseidon was wearing. He stood a better chance of reciting the menu. 

Did he really... propose? And Crowley accepted him, just like that? He had been a little over-excited about the flowers… Well, he couldn't just tell the poor dear he didn’t mean it now, could he? That would be terribly rude. 

“Angel? Angel, are you alright? You have gone pale. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell so much. I was.. Worried.”

And would that be so bad? Crowley was the best companion if they married they wouldn’t have to be parted again. Perhaps he could stay whenever he was and not go back to Gabriel. 

Besides, Crowley was so happy about the wreath. He was still wearing it, even now. No use to spoil it for him. If he stops thinking they're engaged he might change his mind yet and get rid of him.

A pair of wide golden eyes came into his view. Look at him, so worried now, when it was Azirpahale that made the whole mess. 

“I’m so sorry, angel. Do you really not- do you really want to marry that guy?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Oops, not the most charitable way to put it. But his serpent was too busy feeling relieved to complain. 

A pair of arms encircled him slowly, sneaking closer like a frightened cat. Aziraphale pressed closer. “For the record, I never gave any- Poseidon any wreaths. Gabriel made me make one and absconded with it.”

Crowley hissed, and it would be menacing if it wasn’t so endearing. “That bastard. It so doesn’t count!"

"...Crowley?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry! It’s not funny!"

The demon still chuckled and Aziraphale congratulated himself at least on dispersing his bad mood.

"Sorry. For making a scene Upstairs. C'mon, let's get you to the surface. We can eat there.”

"I was rather fond of your grand entrance. I never saw Gabriel terrified of anything except a spot on his clothes. Why do we have to leave? Can't we just…stay around?" the angel's hand crept towards the nearest bowl, but Crowley snatched it.

"The moment you get your share of food you get an underground citizen passport. Permanent one. As in trapped-here-forever, no returns policy. You're not blaming this one me."

“Oh. So… wouldn't you like me to stay?” Nobody ever really wanted Aziraphale around. So maybe he felt like fishing a little.

Crowley’s human corporation, pale and freckled, blushed a lovely shade of pink, looking straight at him. He was still holding Aziraphale's hand.

"Are you two quite done, or should I get myself a bucket?" Irritated buzz almost drowned out the words.

Crowley snapped around, the spring of anxiety that he was. Aziraphale didn't. He moved half a step, to stand in line with the serpent.

"What's wrong with you, Crowley, to make a place like this, anyway? You used to have a taste." 

“I’m not taking design critique from somebody who keeps manure in the living room.”

"Maybe it's contagious," slightly out of breath, before next to Beelzebub showed up Gabriel. The archangel tried to look like he didn't just run up the infernal stairs in a many-layered toga and failed spectacularly. "Aziraphale never had much taste in anything. Except for ingesting organic matter. Speaking of which, you didn't *eat* anything, did you?"

The cogs in Aziraphale's head started turning.

“Poseidon is appropriately displeased, but willing to let it go if you act nice and proper from now on.”

"Hold on!" Crowley raised his hackles, now more a ferocious cat than a reptile. "He got kidnapped, how is that his fault."

Aziraphale swooned. Internally.

"He got kidnapped by you, Crowley." 

"Besides the point. If anything, you owe me a commendation."

Before his snake and Beelzebub had time to start a new argument, Aziraphael cut in.

“Why don’t you remind me how did I get engaged, brother? I’m traumatized by a big bad (Crowley liked being called bad, right?) serpent demon, my memory is rather patchy.” He never was very brave, but for this? He will do his best. 

"Really, Aziraphale, did you hit your head? Poseidon got a wreath from you, an engagement party got organized, we planned it for years? Since the prophecy."

"Oh! A prophecy?"

Dimly, the angel registered Crowley muttering something that sounded oddly like "you're fucking kidding me", but he hushed him down with a gesture.

"I have my own prophecy? Why didn't you tell me? Oh, nevermind now, let's hear it!"

Gabriel rubbed his forehead and sighed.

“Look, I don’t remember exactly. Something about uniting kingdoms and scales?”

"Ooh, starts good enough." Aziraphale didn’t see Crowley, but he could hear him grinning.

"Shut up, demon. There was also talk about dolphins in great depths? And Atlantis?"

"That was awful. Doesn't even rhyme, clearly a fake. He's making it up as he goes. Don't trust him, angel."

"Crowley, be a dear and don't spoil it! My very own… How wonderful. Where can I hear it word-for-word? How come I never know it existed before?"

"We didn't want you to… get overwhelmed. It’s written down somewhere. Probably. I'm glad you have come to your senses, brother. Can we now leave this dreary hill and return you to your prophesied fiance?"

Both Crowley and Aziraphale winced.

"Er… I'm afraid not."

"What? Of course, you can!"

"I'm already engaged, you see. Gave Crowley here a flower crown, he was so nice to me... Bigamy is still illegal, I'm afraid."

"To a snake?! Are you out of your mind?"

"He looked very lovely in it!" Aziraphale thought it an important point to defend. "Still does, of course, just… differently." Differently enough to make an angel's mind go in a very unangelic direction. 

"Engagement-smagment, nothing in that is irrevocably binding."

"I'm glad you agree. But, as I understand, this is." Aziraphale reached and popped one of the grapes from plater into his mouth. "Oh, these are just delicious!" He took another one, as Gabriel watched him in mute horror. 

Unwilling to let go of Crowley's hand he pulled him a step to the berries which tempted him all day. The demon went along obligingly.

"But- it's your Destiny!"

"Oh, eff the Destiny," said Aziraphale cheerfully, swallowing the next handful of fruit Crowley picked for him. "I'm staying, Gabriel. You don't have power over me. Never had."

"You ungrateful, sorry excuse of the angel! I take care of you for years, curb all tour disgusting habits, find you a perfect match, most powerful in the ethereal world and this is how you thank me? You are nothing without me! You have ruined everything!"

Aziraphale flinched.

"You basstard-"

"Enough! I will not stand this zircuss in my realm. You want to make noizze? Out!"

"But-" Belzebub starred Gabriel down. He got strangely red in the face but didn't say a word. 

Crowley made a zipper sound and gestured at his mouth. 

Gabriel stalled, grumbling. "When you get sick of these vile barbarians, don't come crying to me."

“Don’t worry. If I had a problem, I wouldn’t want to make it worse.”

Gabriel shook with fury. Yet, the blonde angel was a creature of Hades now. He couldn’t touch him without breaking the truce, and after the schism situation still stood shakily at best. Aziraphale hadn’t deluded himself the disappointment and anger on his brother’s face grew from tender feelings. A pawn had slipped from his palm before he could play it right and Gabriel hated being one-upped. For once victory didn't belong to the archangel. 

Despite it, Aziraphale looked after him even as the figure disappeared from sight.

"Are you sure, angel? About staying? You won't end up regretting it?"

Beelzebub snorted. They have forgotten zir was still there.

"Crowley. If I hear once more how you're not worth something, I will throttle you. Personally. Having Mother hate you does not make you unlovable. Grow some bloody self-respect." 

Zir pointed at Aziraphale. 

"You. From now on it's YOUR job to make him remember that. Finally."

With that Beelzebub turned and marched away, not looking back once.

Flowers bloomed around them, their fragrance in the air in a way Aziraphale never felt before. Warm air buzzed with bees, with a trill of oriole he only now noticed. Everything felt solid. As if he had, for the very first time, woke up from a long dream. 

Crowley kept an eye on him knowingly. He kissed his cheek lightly, but it burned like a brand against his skin. 

"Welcome to the Underworld."

He did, indeed, feel very welcome.

### Footnotes:

[3] Or the smartest, depends who you ask.  [ return to text ]

**Author's Note:**

> They might be many discrepancies, my approach to the source material is loose at best... but feel free to point them out anyway. Same goes for any mistakes.


End file.
